Unfamiliar
by cosmic12
Summary: Desperate for revenge, Marie Rousseau embarks on an unwise misson to kill Hans Landa - with the help of the Basterds of course. Sequel to "Pascha".
1. Chapter 1

It had been a full month since the Nazis had left their home. Clotilde had spent a lot of time cleaning, trying to remove the blood. She had largely been successful, though the faint brown stains still lingered in some places.

Clotilde refused to tell Marie what the Nazis had done to her. She didn't quite understand why – it was as though Marie couldn't possibly comprehend; there was something altogether too terrible about rape to share her story.

She went back to school – Sr. Perpetua and Fr. Renaud had eventually been replaced, and their new teachers continued on with their lessons as if nothing had happened. Clotilde could feel a sense of security, of peace, in going to school, going to Mass, and following a routine. She revelled in its safety – the irregularity of her ordeal had been too much to bear.

Marie, however, was another story altogether. She had grown angrier and angrier, until her rage had begun to consume her. Clotilde refused to tell her the full story of what had happened, and this just frustrated her further.

It was a Saturday morning, having woken up, that she decided that she needed to leave the house, to get out, to get away, and of course, get her revenge. She had heard mutterings in town that the Nazis had moved on to the nearby town of O-. Yes – it made sense; she would go.

Clotilde was in the kitchen, kneading bread. Marie sat down at the table.

"Clotilde."

Clotilde turned, and looked at her sister. She had flour on her hands and apron; her hair was slightly dishevelled. She was smiling slightly, something she had rarely done previously.

"Yes, Marie?

"I've heard…I've heard that the Germans went to O-."

Clotilde looked confused, "What?"

"They've gone to O-."

"And?"

"Well, I think we should go after them."

Clotilde took a sharp intake of breath – she was shocked and horrified. Suddenly, she became very angry.

"What? Marie, are you stupid? Go after them? What are you talking about?"

"I want to get revenge for Maman and Papa?"

"No, no, no!" Clotilde shouted, "Marie, do you have any idea what you're getting involved in? What, do you think you can take on twenty armed men alone? What do you think they'll do to you?"

"I don't care if I die, I want to kill _him._"

"Marie, don't be so naïve! You don't care if you die? Do you care about me?" She cried, feeling a sob beginning to choke her.

Marie fell silent, "Yes, I care about you."

"Well, Marie, if you care about me, you'll forget this nonsense about revenge. It won't achieve anything."

Marie frowned and put her head in her hands. Her sister was indeed the voice of reason, but the plan was still not banished from her mind.

Standing up, she sullenly told her sister she was going for a walk.

She shuddered as she walked past the gate where she had first met Landa, and made her way on into the countryside. There was a copse not far from their house, and she frequently took walks there – well, she had before the Germans had come.

She began to wander around, taking in the surroundings. The sun shone through the branches, casting strange shadows on the ground.

She had got quite far into the forest when she began to feel tired, and sat down against a tree to rest. She closed her eyes – she thought just for a second – but she drifted involuntarily into sleep.

Marie was woken by the harsh sounds of a certain unfamiliar English phrase.

"Well, fuck – a – duck!"


	2. Chapter 2

Marie opened her eyes groggily, and when she saw he sigh she was faced with, seized the ground around her, and backed against the tree. The harsh, cacophonous sounds of the words led her to believe that they were speaking German. However their uniforms she had never seen before – and they certainly weren't those of the Wehrmacht or SS.

However, Marie still felt a knot of fear in her stomach – it was not unheard of for French girls to be mistreated by allied soldiers.

One of the men took a step towards her, and asked kindly, "What's your name?"

Marie had learned a small amount of English in school, however this accent was inscrutable to her.

"Pardon?" She asked timidly.

Another man pushed past him and said loudly, "Do – you – speak – English?"

"Yes, a little." Marie answered. She drew her knees in towards her chest, and made an effort to stand up.

The first man asked her again, "What's your name?"

This time Marie understood him and said quietly, "Marie Rousseau."

"And what are you doin' out here?"

Marie started – there was certainly a hint of accusation in his question. She didn't care for the way he was looking at her either – guardedly, suspiciously.

"I…" Marie raked her mind for the correct verb. She disliked English immensely. It was too irregular – in contrast to the regular safety of the declensions and conjugations in a language like Latin. "I live over there." She said, pointing in the direction of their house, "I was going for a walk …_ce matin_…this morning."

The man stood beside her, and pointed, "You mean that big house over there?"

"Yes."

The man's expression darkened, "There were Nazis stayin' in that house."

Marie gasped. She could feel her lower lip trembling.

"I-I…" She wanted to answer him, to tell him exactly what she thought of _Nazis. _Her English, however, was failing her. The man make took a step towards her, and she began to shake once more. He was an imposing figure, looming over he just like Landa had done.

"How old are you?" He asked gruffly.

"Fourteen." Marie answered, looking at her feet.

His companion laughed, and said to him, "Come on Aldo, she's not exactly Nazi material!"

"Well, ya know, you can never be too careful."

"I heard Landa was passin' through here as well-" another man interjected.

Marie's head shot up at the mention of the name. This didn't go unnoticed.

"Well missy, you know him?"

Marie's jaw was shaking, and she balled her hands into fists, "I 'ate Landa! I 'ate eem!"

Aldo closed his mouth and turned away, saying quietly, "I see."

"What do you mean?" asked his comrade.

"Well, Omar, my guess is that kraut son of a bitch took more than the hospitality, if you get my meaning."

His friend looked slightly confused by the euphemism, but understood when Aldo motioned with his head towards Marie, who had started to cry, though she was hiding her face in her arm and frantically wiping away the tears.

Aldo turned back to Marie, "Alright little missy, you go on home, an' don't be taking no more walks alone in forests."

Marie frowned – she was struggling to understand what he was saying, so instead she asked, "Are you going to kill Landa?"

Aldo smiled, and placed his hand on her head, "Don't you worry now kid, we'll sort out that Nazi fucker, now you go on home."

Marie smiled nervously, and backed away slowly, feeling in some way excited, although another large part of her was desperately afraid.

Marie reached the gate of the house and sighed. She felt disappointment – like she'd let an opportunity slip away from her.


	3. Chapter 3

_Clotilde's arms were tied to her bedposts. She was struggling futilely, trying to break free. "Please, not like this," She groaned._

_In response all she got was harsh, callow laughter, and a gloved hand creeping around her fragile neck…_

Clotilde jolted up in bed. Her blood was pounding through her body, and a cold sweat had formed on her forehead. It was the first nightmare, or rather flashback, she had experienced since the Germans had left.

She slid out of bed and staggered across the bedroom floor to her washbasin, where she tried to splash some water on her face, she lifted a bar of soap only for it to slip out of her trembling hand.

_Harsh laughter, a certain uniform, a throbbing pain between her legs…_

Clotilde shut her eyes tight and shuddered. Memories were coming to her inexplicably, some more brutal than others, but all had the same crushing effect on her. The elation she had experienced when the Nazis left was slipping away from her, only to be replaced with the terrible, dark feeling that they had taken something from her; they had damaged her very humanity.

* * *

Marie didn't know why she went to O-. Deep down, she wanted to follow the Nazis, to act out her plan for revenge. Only her good sense and loyalty to Marie was holding her back.

Reaching the Main Street of O- the doubts began to converge on her, and reluctantly she acknowledged that her plan was pure folly; she would have to go home. However, by now it was lunchtime, and Marie wanted something to eat.

She spotted a café at the corner of the street and made her way towards it. She peered in, and seeing it was full of Nazi officers turned away quickly, only to collide with a young Wehrmacht soldier.

"Oh, excuse me, Mademoiselle!"

"I'm sorry," said Marie, and turned to leave.

The young man smiled, and answered, "No, that's alright. If only more beautiful girls bumped into me!"

Marie went bright red. She had never experienced male attention of this nature before, and it only had the effect of making her embarrassed. She looked up at the young man (he certainly was a young man, there was something innocent, baby like in his face.) She smiled, and said awkwardly, "Well, it's nice to meet you, but I must go home."

The young man looked slightly disappointed, but asked, "Would you like to get a coffee?" hopefully, and indicated the café with his hand.

Marie was considering refusing, and the young man could see that. His expression became stern and threatening, and Marie, beginning to become afraid readily assented.

Sitting at a table in the middle of the café, he asked, "So, what's your name?"

"Marie. Marie Rousseau. You?"

"Sigmund. Sigmund Wader."

Marie smiled, and said amicably, "Sigmund – like the psychologist…oh, what's his name?" Her question was rhetorical, but he answered.

"Freud? The Jew?" He said sternly, and sighed heavily, pursing his lips.

Marie became pale, and averted her eyes. She had made a serious Faux Pas.

"So, do you live in O-?"

"No, in B-."

"Oh? May I ask why you're here? B-…. I heard the SS passed through there recently-"

"Yes." Marie said suddenly. She became aware that her hand had started to shake.

The young man raised an eyebrow, but continued, "I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that group though, the stories I've heard about their Colonel…Landa I think he's called-"

"What stories would those be?" A familiar voice rang out through the café. Marie once again flushed red and sank into her seat.


	4. Chapter 4

The blood drained from the young soldier's face, and he started to tremble.

"Uh-"

"Well, get me a coffee, and then you can tell me these _stories _you've heard. I'll become acquainted with your young _friend _here in the meantime."

To Marie's horror, Landa pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. Sigmund, whose face was now almost white, got up from his seat nervously and approached the counter.

"Play along, now, Marie."

Marie looked at him, trembling, her countenance a mixture of loathing and fear. He gestured with a small nod of his head to his hand, which was pointing a pistol at her under the table.

"Did Clotilde tell you?" He asked, smirking.

Marie didn't answer, but turned her head away from him, and snorted derisively.

"I'll take that as a yes." He said quietly, and chucked.

Sigmund returned to the table carrying a cup of coffee. Struggling to control his shaking hand, he placed it in front of Landa.

Landa took one sip before remarking acerbically, "Disgusting." He turned to Sigmund with a smile, and began speaking to him in German. Marie, who was hereafter unable to follow the conversation, looked around the café, observing the residents of O- go about their daily business. She could hear a note of vulnerability in Private Wader's voice; his own fear and uncertainty. Landa however spoke with a kind of aloof authority; it had never crossed his mind to doubt his actions or their consequences.

Switching suddenly back to French, Landa addressed Marie with a smile, "So, are you going to tell me your name?"

Marie was confused, but remembering the pistol under the table answered, "Marie. Marie Rousseau."

"Aha. And do you live here in O-?"

"No, B-."

"Oh, I see. Did you have a reason for coming here today?"

Marie's mouth opened slightly as she struggled to think of a reason, and for several torturous moments she remained silent.

"I was visiting someone."

"Oh? Do you have family here?"

Marie's voice was wavering as she continued, "Yes, an aunt and uncle."

She did, in fact, have a maternal aunt and uncle who lived in O-. However, her mother had severed all contact with them years ago.

"I see," Landa replied, taking another sip of his coffee.

"Excusez-moi," Wader interjected, "I must use the bathroom."

Marie watched him leave anxiously, her eyes pleading with him to stay.

"So," Landa began, "Why did you really come here?"

Marie was taken aback by the frankness of the question, and answered tonelessly, "I came to visit family."

Landa, who had been reclining in his chair, leaned forward dangerously, and said harshly, "Now, don't lie to me. Why are you here?"

Marie kept her face expressionless, and answered once more, "I've already told you, Monsieur."

Marie could see a glint of anger in his eye, and began to feel fear rising in her throat. Fortunately, before he could act, Sigmund sat down between them, smiling nervously.

Landa sighed, and said scornfully, "I suppose I shall leave you. _Take care_."

It was only when he had left the café that Marie allowed herself to sigh a sigh of relief. She noticed that her companion had done the same.

"I should go home." Marie said awkwardly, with her gaze on the floor.

Sigmund stood up immediately, "I will walk with you."

Marie grimaced, but on seeing his disappointed face she assented.

Marie felt uncomfortable walking with him. She was worried that someone might see them: _what would people think? _The road back to B- was one she had walked many times, but on this occasion she felt apprehensive.

Sigmund tried several times to strike up a conversation, but Marie's answers were monosyllabic: better not to encourage him, she thought.

However, she soon found her mind wandering. He _was _attractive. Blond hair, blue eyes, a fair complexion – there was something to be said for that, wasn't there. On realizing what she had been thinking Marie suddenly felt embarrassed. She could have counted the men she knew on one hand, and none of them presented any realistic prospect of a relationship to her. She had never experienced attraction before, and the experience frightened her.

She became aware of Sigmund's hand brushing against hers, and she blushed deeply. Reluctantly she allowed his fingers to curl around hers – as he did she could feel the hair on her arms stand on end.

Marie and Sigmund continued along the road in silence, the tension between them almost tangible.

Eventually Sigmund could bear it no longer, he turned on her and dived in order to press his lips against hers. Marie's immediate reaction was to recoil, and pushed him away frantically. She wiped his saliva from her mouth, and screamed, "What are you doing?"

"I was kissing you!" the soldier shouted angrily. Marie shrank on the spot at the ferocity of his reaction. Her replied weakly, "I have to go home.", but before she had even taken a step he lunged forward and grabbed her arm roughly, muttering "tease!" under his breath.

Marie immediately began to struggle against him, but this only infuriated the soldier further. In frustration he swung out his arm and hit her in the face, causing her to stagger and fall to the ground.

Marie touched her fingers against her nose, and seeing droplets of blood began to sob. She felt Sigmund grab a fistful of her hair and force her to her feet.

Marie felt disoriented; her head was spinning. In a blur she could see Sigmund as he turned her to face him.

"Don't hurt me. Please, don't hurt me," she begged weakly.

"I _should _hurt you," he spat in reply.

Her surroundings were still in a haze, but the voices of a number of men threw them back into sharp relief.

"What are you doin' to that girl, ya kraut bastard?"


	5. Chapter 5

Clotilde had begun to become concerned that Marie still hadn't come back from her walk. Worries flashed through her head, _she's gone to O-, hasn't she? What's happened to her? _

Clotilde decided that she had to go and look for her. Walking along the open road, she began to feel a terror, a vulnerability she had never felt before. If someone were to attack her, she would be completely helpless. A realization that she couldn't defend herself, couldn't protect herself dropped on her like a ton of bricks.

She'd been around O- a few times when she was younger, but now it was largely speaking unfamiliar. She could see German soldiers standing together at the corners, smoking and talking. She balled her hands into fists and tried to focus on looking for Marie. She noticed a café in the centre of town, and balked when she saw it was full of German soldiers. Taking a deep breath she opened the door.

She looked around and sighed disappointedly when she saw that Marie wasn't there. She had barely turned to leave when a familiar voice cut through her like a blade.

"_Bonjour_, Clotilde." Clotilde turned and saw him, and immediately backed up defensively.

"B-bonjour."

He raised his eyebrows and smiled, "Following me, are we?" he asked jocularly, "would you like a coffee."

Clotilde tried to force herself to smile, but her mouth wavered, and said quietly, "No, Mons- _Colonel_, I need to get on,"

"I see," he replied amicably, before lowering his voice and asking darkly, "Looking for Marie?"

Clotilde's heart seemed to stop, and her eyes widened. "No." She lied weakly,

Landa smirked, "You're a terrible liar, Clotilde."

Clotilde frowned, and began to feel angry, "I need to go home." She replied quietly, and turned to leave.

Landa pursed his lips and hissed, "_Au revoir." _

_

* * *

_

Marie knelt in front of the body. She was shaking slightly, but with exhilaration rather than fear; there was something immensely satisfying about watching German blood finally being spilt rather than French. Watching him being beaten to death had made her queasy, yet she couldn't pull her eyes away.

Marie looked up at the group of men standing around her, and she murmured, "Thank you."

Aldo and Donny were standing apart from the group, occasionally looking up from their discussion.

"We can't leave her here."

"Why not?"

"She's implicated in this. The Gestapo-"

"And what's she gonna do? Be a fuckin' camp follower? Fuckin' being the operative word, of course."

Aldo grimaced, "Ya pervert, enough of that. I'm sure we could find something useful."

He turned away from his comrade and walked towards Marie.

"Can you cook?

Marie nodded nervously.

"Clean? Sew?"

"Y-yes." She mumbled, as Aldo turned back to Donowitz and shouted,

"See? We'll leave her off with the resistance once we get to Paris."

* * *

Clotilde got home at about six; she went to her room almost immediately, and found the dress she had worn the first time Landa had raped her. She lifted it gingerly from the floor where it had been left (she had been sleeping in the library since they had left). It smelt of stale urine and was badly discoloured.

She carried it between her fingertips to the library, and got on her knees to light a fire in the fireplace. When it was finally blazing she tossed the dress into the flames.

She sat down on her chair and sighed. She would clear her old bedroom tomorrow. Maybe then her life would be almost normal again.


	6. Chapter 6

Marie was tired from walking. The bag she'd been given to carry was heavy and the strap was beginning to cut into her shoulders. Her shoes were not made for walking and she could feel water beginning to seep in. She forced herself to keep walking, totally silent. The men around her talked, but her English wasn't good enough to understand much of what they were saying.

Eventually they came to a stop, and they set down their belongings. Marie lifted the bag from her shoulders and sat down on a stump, feeling a cramp coming on in her legs. Aldo and Donny were talking together. Every so often one of them would look up at her. It made her uncomfortable, and she looked away.

Marie sat in silence for about half an hour while they continued to talk amongst themselves. Eventually a man sat down beside her.

"Bonjour," he began, "Juh m'appeylle Omar."

"D'accord. Je m'appelle Marie."

He handed her a knife. Marie's eyes widened in surprise. Then she saw he was holding a bag of potatoes.

"We have to peel the potatoes."

He smiled, lifted a potato from the sack, tossed it in the air, caught it and began peeling. Marie lifted one slowly and began to cut. Accidentally the knife slipped and cut a wide gash in her finger. Marie gasped and dropped the potato to the ground.

"You alright?" he asked, somewhat startled.

Marie nodded feebly and wrapped her hand in her skirt.

* * *

As they ate their dinner – a sort of stew – Marie could hear them discussing something, but her limited ability in English once more restricted her understanding. She picked out the odd word; Nazi, kill, various expletives. She began to feel afraid. She was conflicted; the prospect of another encounter with German soldiers simultaneously filled her with fear and excitement. It was a strange feeling, one that she had never experienced again.

The following day the camp moved on further through the forest. Suddenly they all became quiet; Marie began to worry. Omar turned to her and mouthed, "Stay here. There's a group of Nazis ahead."

Marie stayed behind for about twenty minutes; after about twenty minutes the gunshots stopped and all she heard was a stream of intense discussion. Gingerly she got to her knees so she wouldn't be seen and crawled ahead. She sat behind a tree and watched them: there were several bodies lying scattered around them. Marie began to feel sick. Leaning back against the tree she fished in her bag for her rosary beads and began to pray. She regretted her decision to leave home now. No, this was too much; she was in too deep. She needed to go back home to Clotilde...

* * *

Landa stood over the body of Private Wader. His mouth was closed tightly. _Little Marie's beau?Beaten? And scalped? She and the basterds? _Landa turned away from the body. _Perhaps she's not that innocent after all…_

* * *

Clotilde was jolted awake by a loud bang on the door. She jumped to her feet and ran immediately to window to see who was there. Her stomach sank; men in black trenchcoats, soldiers. She immediately ran to the kitchen just as the front door was broken down.

"Clotilde Rousseau!" An unfamiliar voice called out loudly. Clotilde reached for the keys as she heard footsteps disseminating through the house. Frantically she searched for the back door key. Fumbling desperately she managed to insert the key into the keyhole when a gloved hand seized her shoulder.

"Clotilde Rousseau, this is the Gestapo. You're under arrest."


	7. Chapter 7

"Bonjour, Clotilde."

Clotilde winced.

"My name is Major Dieter Hellstrom, and I assure, Mademoiselle, there is nothing to be frightened of."

She bit her lip; everything about the set up made her uneasy; the dark, damp interrogation room; his overly friendly manner; the emotionless guard standing in the corner.

"Now, I only seek to ask you a few questions." He paused, and looked up at her, smiling, before continuing, "Your sister, Marie Rousseau, has been implicated in the murder of one of our Privates, a certain Sigmund Wader."

Clotilde gasped. Her hand began to shake, and she moved it under the table to hide it from view.

"So, Clotilde, where is your sister?"

"I don't know."

"_You don't know?" _He said, sitting back and pursing his lips.

"No."

"When did she leave your home?"

"Yesterday. Yesterday morning."

"Do you have any idea why she might have left?"

"No."

"No idea? Not at all?"

"No."

He smiled saccharinely, and said, "Well, it is my understanding that you are acquainted with Colonel Landa?"

Clotilde flinched, "Yes."

"Well, he has told me that he met Marie in the village of O- yesterday, and shortly afterwards ran into you. Why did you go to O-?"

"To visit a relative." She answered flatly.

"Which relative?"

"My aunt."

"Her name?"

"Juliette. Juliette Dupont."

"You know, it's funny, that's the same reason Marie told Colonel Landa."

Clotilde's jaw dropped.

"Surely you would have met her, that is, Marie, if you were in O- at the same time?"

"I must have just missed her." Clotilde answered.

"Now, the thing is, Clotilde, we tracked down this _Madame Dupont_, and she said that she hadn't seen either you or Marie since you were children."

Clotilde froze. She couldn't think of an answer.

"Now, Mademoiselle, please tell me why Marie went to O-, and this time I want to know the _truth." _

Clotilde's mouth trembled violently.

Hellstrom repeated himself, this time more sternly, "The truth, Clotilde."

"We had an argument-"

"Why?"

"She wanted…she wanted to go after Landa."

"Why?"

"She wanted revenge."

"Why?"

"He shot my – our - parents."

"Ah, yes, resistance members." He said, smiling brightly.

An image of the two corpses flashed into her mind, and tears began to pour from her eyes. She remembered Landa standing in the back of the room, smirking at her, and she balled her hands into fists.

"Now, Clotilde, what do you know about the Basterds?"

She furrowed her brow, and replied honestly, "I've never heard of them."

Hellstrom chuckled, "Unfortunately, Mademoiselle, I find that very difficult to believe. Especially…especially considering your current track record with the truth."

Clotilde closed her eyes. There was nothing she could say that would improve this situation.

"I'm afraid we'll have to try a more _intense _form of interrogation." He said, smiling widely.


	8. Chapter 8

**NB - this chapter contains a scene of torture, please don't read if you find this sort of thing upsetting.**

Hellstrom had the guard take her to a cell. It was small; dark, damp. She sat on the bed and it heaved under her weight.

"Fräulein." He said officiously, nodded and left the cell, locking the door behind him.

Clotilde lay down on the bed. Hellstrom's words kept flashing through her mind. _Intense _interrogation? What did that mean? Torture? She wondered if she would ever leave this place alive.

Eventually she managed to drift off to sleep – only to be woken at around 3 am as the door was thrust open. Two soldiers marched in; Clotilde had barely sat up on the bed when they seized her arms and took her from the room. They led her through the prison to a small, badly lit room in the basement. She could hear people screaming, and shuddered.

The heavy metal door was wrenched open and Clotilde was thrown in. She stumbled and fell to her knees in front of a figure seated in a wooden chair at a table. She could see he was dressed differently to the Gestapo officers; it was only when she fell and saw the boots that her stomach sank.

"Bonsoir, Clotilde." He said, "Stand up so I can see you."

Clotilde got to her feet nervously, pulling her skirt out to straighten her dress. Landa's mouth curled into a smile. He stood up and began pacing up and down the room.

"Well, Major Hellstrom has told me he caught you lying. But we already knew that, didn't we?" He said lightly, "Now," as he said it he turned and took a fistful of the hair on the back of her head, "We're going to find out what you know."

"I don't know anything." Clotilde said quietly.

"Well, that may be so – but we won't let it get in the way of our fun, will we?"

Landa postulated that if she _did _know anything, she would give it up easily. She was completely spineless – though he did wonder if she would be prepared to give up her sister. But mere _fear _of pain had her trembling and begging – he almost wished she were a bit more arrogant, that he might have something to _break. _But it's difficult to break what's already broken.

Clotilde swallowed deeply as he led her to the barrel of water; she struggled futilely as he submerged her head under the water. As her oxygen began to run out she began to stamp her feet – she was drowning. Just as she was about to give up and inhale water he pulled her out.

"What do you know?"

"I don't know anything," she shrieked, as he pushed her head back under the water. He kept this pattern up, but she still would not produce any information. Eventually he threw her to the ground and watched her cough and splutter to rid her mouth and throat of water.

"Please, I don't know anything," she said desperately as he walked towards her.

Landa laughed as he reached her, and landing a brutal kick to her abdomen, said "Mlle – I believe you. However, you must understand that we have a certain _process_."

He beat her viciously. She cowered and screamed through the whole thing. One kick hit her chest so hard she was sure he'd broken some of her ribs. Eventually he stopped, and seized her ankle to drag her across the room, her body leaving a bloody smear in its wake.

"Please," she cried, as she saw him take a knife from his pocket. "Oh God, please, no!"

Landa was merciless as he cut her clothes from her, the knife nipping her skin intentionally. She curled up defensively as he stood over her, dreading what was to come.

"Please don't rape me." She murmured meekly.

Landa snorted, "Clotilde, I certainly won't rape you. Several of my men have contracted gonorrhoea and syphilis since our stay _chez toi._" Clotilde gasped, "Fortunately I seem to have missed it – But now, Clotilde - I'm afraid a dirty, diseased whore is of no use to anyone."

Clotilde closed her mouth and swallowed deeply.

"What I am interested in, Mademoiselle, is _humiliation._"

He walked back to the pool of blood on the other side of the room, and barked, "Come here. On your knees." Clotilde crawled towards him, keeping her head down - she could feel hot tears pouring from her eyes, stinging her bruised face.

"The floor. Lick it clean."

Landa watched her intently, admiring the bruises he had left on her body.

"Please," she said, "If I knew anything I would tell you."

Landa smiled; she was weak, as he expected. But he kicked her again, and jeered, "Don't stop until that blood is gone."

Clotilde was made to walk back to her cell naked. Some of the other guards raised eyebrows at her, others whistled. She desperately wanted cover herself, to hide her shame. She was thrown into the cell wordlessly, the guard slamming the door closed behind her. The bed had only a thin, grotty blanket, though the room was freezing cold. She got under it and curled up in the bed. She tried to block out her worries about Marie, though they came to her, keeping her awake for most of the night. Death would have been preferable to this living hell.


	9. Chapter 9

Marie waited until they were sleeping before she made her attempt to leave. However, she wasn't going to leave herself vulnerable; she had managed to find a discarded handgun under the body of a German. In a way she couldn't believe what she'd done, _stealing from a corpse. _And yet, it was done.

She held the gun tightly in her right hand as she began to crawl away from the camp, her breathing unsteady.

Her heart stopped with the clunking of a gun behind her and a gruff voice half-whispering, "Where do you think you're goin'?"

Marie turned in horror to see Donnybearing over her, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

"Please," she said, "I 'ave to go home."

He said nothing, until his eyes made their way to the gun in her hand.

"Where'd you get that?"

Marie's mouth began to tremble, "I found it…I took it from a German."

His eyes narrowed, and he hissed, _"Get back in the fucking camp." _

Marie, by this time shaking visibly, went back and lay down. She didn't understand why, but she started to cry, hiding her tears from the men around her.

Clotilde spent most of the next few days in bed. Symptoms, which she had attributed solely to the physical damage done to her, began to worry her; burning, pain…

Every day the door would open and a plate would be thrown on the floor; it was a sort of porridge and tasted vile, but she forced herself to eat it. There were no facilities to wash, and only a bucket to use as a toilet.

After a few days the boredom and loneliness started to play on her. She paced furiously around the room. She sat down and stood up. She looked at the bucket in the corner and thought seriously about smearing her own filth across the room.

Eventually three men came to her room, all wearing military uniform.

Clotilde was filled with fear. One of them barked something at her in German and Clotilde froze. Seeing that she wasn't taking notice, he seized her arm and threw her on the bed, trying to pry her legs apart. Immediately she began to scream and struggle, and the he signaled for the two soldiers to hold her down.

He performed a medical examination. Afterwards Clotilde sat awkwardly while the doctor made some notes in a small notebook.

The three men eventually left and Clotilde got back into bed, and cried. Once again she had been humiliated.

She was lying in bed when she heard the door opening again, and at once closed her eyes, pretending to sleep. She didn't need to look to see who it was.

He came and sat on the side of the bed, like a father putting his child to sleep. Clotilde kept her eyes closed, but opened them wide as he took hold of her throat.

"No need to pretend to sleep, dear."

"I wasn-" she began, but was cut off as he delivered a hard slap across her face.

"Enough lying, Clotilde." He paused for a second, not taking his eyes off her. "I heard you made a scene today, even after I sent a doctor for you."

"I-I…" Clotilde croaked, her voice straining under the force of his hand.

"Yes?"

"He didn't speak French, I didn't understand-"

Landa laughed derisively, "You thought they'd come to fuck you, didn't you?"

Clotilde flushed bright red, "You flatter yourself." He continued, before standing up.

"Why are you here?" She asked weakly.

"I thought you might be lonely," he said sarcastically, before adding, "No – I've thought of a use for you. How much English do you know?"

"Enough to get by."

"Good. As you know, Marie is currently in the company of the Basterds. I would like you to join her. In other words, infiltrate them. I will ensure you have means of reporting back to me."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Yes. You can do as I am asking you, otherwise I shall have you sent to Ravensbruck."

"Ravensbruck?"

"Yes. A concentration camp."


	10. Chapter 10

**I know this chapter is very short, but it's intended to act as a bridge to a much longer chapter (also it's A level results day so I'm feeling a bit lazy :P) **

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* * *

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When Landa returned to her cell a few hours later, at first Clotilde felt a sense of elation in seeing him bringing clothes. As he held up the dress however, she swallowed deeply; it was one of her own from home, but it was dirty and had been torn.

"You're an innocent little girl," he had said, "those _evil _Nazis have raped and beaten you."

Something about the sarcasm in his voice unsettled her; there was nothing in the statement that wasn't entirely, completely true. And yet he acted as if it were nothing more than a cover story. She _was_ their victim; but Landa himself had thought about his words carefully. He wanted to bring her under his control, not to betray him and switch sides; he wanted to make her believe this was her fault, and this "mission" was the only way she could redeem herself.

"Now, we have a general idea where they are in operation." He had begun, before proceeding to give her a long description of what was required.

"I want to know their plans. Every detail you can get."

Clotilde's eyes glazed over as he continued, and he turned and stamped his foot against the grey, stone floor, telling her to pay attention and cursing (she presumed) in German.

"Let me explain to you clearly." He said sharply, "If you are uncovered, everything is nothing. What happened in O— is nothing, _nothing_ compared to what will happen if you are discovered."

Clotilde frowned and nodded to show she understood the implications of his words.

He turned his back to her and started pacing back and forth. "We are having an event in Paris. A film screening. Very dangerous. I fear they may be planning an attack."

"As I said, find out everything you can. When you get to Paris, find a way to depart from the group and find the nearest German outpost. Give this letter to them."

He immediately produced a two page document from his pocket, the first page written in German, the second in code, and handed it to her.

"There should now be a concealed pocket on the lining of that dress." He added, reaching into to his pocket and retrieved two small, brass capsules, and handed them to her.

"In the eventuality that you are caught, you can use this cyanide capsule. Put it between your teeth and bite. It will kill you in a number of seconds."

"Why two?" Clotilde asked, feeling herself begin to shake, although she feared she already knew the answer.

"The other is for Marie."


	11. Chapter 11

Clotilde, standing in the middle of a forest, as she did now, was completely aloof. She had almost stopped caring; rationalizing her thoughts – _there was nothing worse she could experience, was there? What reason was there to be afraid? _Repeated brutalisation had given Clotilde a contempt for her own life. Being treated like shit had made her unable to see herself as anything better.

Landa was right when he called her a coward, of course she was. An image of her parents' bodies lying there, covered in blood…because she had taken the coward's way out. She should have shouted _fuck you_ at Landa and spat in his face like Sophie did, facing death at the barrel of a gun unafraid and untainted by moral doubt.

But the question of Marie still bothered her; she was the only reason that Clotilde didn't put the capsule in her mouth and be done with it.

Clotilde swallowed when she heard movement; men talking – they were coming nearer. She lay on the ground and tried to make herself seem as conspicuous as possible, covering her face with her hair. She bitterly suppressed the urge to get up and run.

She could hear them coming and squeezed her eyes shut. She wondered if Landa depended too much on the noble intentions of these men. The horrific prospect of a repeat of what happened in B- flashed through her mind when-

"Hey!" a gruff voice shouted, "what are you doing?"

Clotilde could feel soft hands touching her face, and reluctantly opened her eyes to see Marie staring down at her. She was already crying.

Clotilde wanted to immediately reach out and grab her, to hold her close, to tell her how sorry she was…

* * *

Clotilde's palms were sweating. Sitting opposite these men terrified her as much as being opposite the Gestapo. And she had never been a good liar.

"Now I want you to tell me," their leader said, leaning forward, "what the hell is going on."

Clotilde swallowed, desperately trying to remember her story.

"Marie is my sister." She choked out, her English heavily accented.

"That much I gathered."

"My parents were in the resistance. The Germans came to our house. My parents were shot. After they left Marie ran away, and I was arrested."

"Why?"

"They told me she killed a German."

He narrowed his eyes and leaned back. "How did you get here?"

A series of events flashed through Clotilde's mind and her eyes filled with tears. She struggled to remember the story.

"They brought me in a truck, they told me they were taking me to a camp in Germany. I managed to get out and run. I fell here." Clotilde's voice was wavering; its tone was unmistakeably false.

"How was a little girl like you able to get away from those bastards?"

Clotilde could see the suspicion in his face; her heart was racing.

"Some of them went for a cigarette. The one who was left fell asleep."

The man leant back and stared at her intensely. He shook his head, "No. No – I don't believe it. You're lying."

Clotilde cursed under her breath. _This was it. This was the end._

"Please." She began, "He said he'd send me-" Clotilde's voice wavered and dropped to a whisper.

"I don't want to be involved in this. Let me leave with Marie. Please."

"Wait just a minute-"

"Please! They _raped _me!" She shrieked, tears filling her eyes as she began to become hysterical.

The man's eyes narrowed.

Clotilde's heart began to beat harder and faster; she felt her heart sinking as her fear of not being believed was realized.

"Do you want to see?" She screamed, anger filling her. She stood up before them, yanking up her dress to reveal thighs covered in bruises.

"Can you see? Do you believe me!" The man sitting opposite her turned his head away, deeply uncomfortable.

Clotilde began to babble in French, overcome with hysteria and frustration "Je dis ca, je dis rien – bof – je suis putain…ils ne croyent rien…les allemands- je devrais partir. Je _dois _partir…"

"Sit down, please." The man said quietly, averting his eyes from her.

Clotilde swallowed and sat down again. She wanted to be believed, not pity.

"Alright. I don't trust you. I'm getting sick of this, because I don't know what the fuck is going on with you two. There's a safe house around here, and I'm gonna leave you two there."

Clotilde nodded, immediately terrified, but also relieved.

* * *

It was night when they reached the house – it stood in the middle of the forest – grand and stately – obviously the house of someone of considerable wealth. Neither Clotilde nor Marie could see due to the darkness, but the house was attached to a church.

A middle aged priest answered the door.

"Can you take two?"

"Two what?"

"Girls."

"Girls?"

"They can explain for themselves. We need to go."

The priest looked mildly put out, but sighed and sought them out in the darkness.

* * *

Clotilde and Marie came into the house nervously. Marie was shaking, and Clotilde immediately sought out her hand.

"Your affiliation, please. I'd like to know where we stand." The priest said, walking towards the kitchen. He was speaking in English.

"Françaises." Clotilde said quietly.

"Is that all?" He asked sharply, switching to French.

"You aren't Communists?" He said.

"N-no." Clotilde answered.

"Do you believe in God?"

"Of course."

The priest sighed a sigh of relief.

"Good. God help France if those Marxists have their way."

Clotilde immediately thought of Renaud, and how alike these two men were; self-righteous and arrogant.

"Would you like something to eat?" He asked pleasantly, "Please, sit down." Indicating with his hand the table in front of them.

"So what's your story?" He asked, slicing a loaf of bread and unwrapping a block of cheese.

"Pardon?" Clotilde asked. Marie remained silent.

"They all have a story. There are others you see, hiding in the cellar."

"They killed our parents." Marie interjected tonelessly.

"Oh."

Clotilde looked over at Marie to see her face; she had an expression of complete despair and dejection.

* * *

The priest led them down a staircase, the entrance to which was hidden under a rug, which itself had a large chest of drawers covering it.

The cellar was in complete darkness; though Marie noticed three lamps hanging around the room. There were about another ten people in the room; although most of the space was taken up with racks of what she assumed was sacramental wine.

"I'll be down tomorrow morning with some food. There's not much privacy here, I'm sorry. There's two other women here though. But you can introduce yourselves tomorrow. There are some blankets over there."

Marie stared blankly ahead; Clotilde nodded. It was a change. But at least they were safe.


End file.
